Long Visitation Poems
Long Visitation Poems. Below are the most popular long Visitation by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Visitation poems by poem length and keyword.
"Who am I?
Who is but the form following the function of what, and what I am is a man in a mask,
but on this most auspicious of nights, permit me then, in lieu of the more commonplace sobriquet, to suggest the character of my dramatis persona.
Voilà! In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran,
cast vicariously as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of Fate.
This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is a vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished.
However, this valorous visitation of a by-gone vexation, stands vivified and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin van-guarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violation of volition.
The only verdict is vengeance; a vendetta, held as a votive, not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous.
LOL,.. Verily, this vichyssoise of verbiage veers most verbose, so let me simply add that it is my very good honor to meet you, and you may call me V."
.. from the movie, V For Vendetta
For my days fall away
But I remember you
I want to touch the memories
I just don’t know what to say
As my days fall away
I vaguely remember the chicken pox
Colored popcorn
And my first grade made
Robotic cereal box
The hen and the fox
I remember wanting a fire truck one Christmas
The marble red paint
The glass window in which it stained
I remember my foster mom saying it’s this one or nothing
I remember being too stubborn to accept the smaller version
Its these memories I daunt
It’s these reflections that constantly haunt
These were the highlights of my life
These were the only happy moments I knew
Yet I left them, moments so few
I remember where the wild things are
I remember marshmallow peanuts
Trick or treating and roasted pumpkin seeds
I remember visitation days
The beach-less sand the way we as children once played
I remember the door that never closed
Mexican casserole and never getting enough
Being afraid to swim
Yet finding my way to the roof of the house
With no way of getting down
I remember my first field trip
The dinosaurs and wanting to be an astronaut
I remember my San Francisco 49ers jersey
Number eighty, jerry rice my favorite player
Now days I tend to only clash with the mayor
It seems that images follow a window of time
And after it’s exhausted
We summon them our memories
Heavenly exuberance of faith’s might
Cheers the heart that testifies truth and right.
Humbling exposure thanking God above
Fills the spirit sharing His joy with love.
Honourable exhortation grips soul
To encourage others as helping goal.
Honest* expression … minus flattery
Reveals character midst sincere story.
Humiliating experience shuts gossip-scouth,
"For a fly does not enter a closed mouth."**
*1Peter 2:12 Having your conversation honest… that, … they may by your good works, which they shall behold, glorify God in the day of visitation.
**Romani Proverb
August 14, 2019
5th place, "Writing Prompt - Take the Dagger Out" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Dear Heart; judged on 2/19/2020.
October Visitation
A peeking orange smear
Talked to the lad inside his head,
When he was eight and nine months,
On a breezy October twilight in 1960,
As the orange light told him silently,
To go to the river's edge behind the red house,
To go there and see what it wanted him to see.
Night’s shawl of descending gray began its covering,
As the boy walked down the horse trail in the midst of chutes,
Volleying up green and yellow digesting rotting salmon,
With lurching trees swaying a little in the beckoning wind.
Upon the smooth stones he slowly trod in foreboding fear,
And there upon a large smooth stone he knelt,
Folding his hands as in preparation for the mysteries,
And then, the boy was compelled to gaze skyward with peering eyes,
And he saw it, a silvery flying thing, ethereal as sugar icing,
Hover above him, as the first stars exposed themselves like a pox,
And the lad prayed to this angel,
This otherworldly visitor from the Iam,
There incredibly seen, on an obscure river bank near Redding.
Pray
Don't ever say nay
A day without prayer
Means you are sufficient in power
Pray
You can never tell
Your remembrance day
The lord opines to destroy enemies' antipersonnel
Pray
Your visitation day will never ring bell
For you not to fail and remain forever in cell
While the sun shines; make hay
Pray to God
It shows you are submissive
And you truly acknowledged
He is excessive
For the weapons of our warfare
To pull down strongholds
Are not carnal
But mighty in God's thresholds
We have to learn how to fight in prayer
It’s interesting when you look at scripture
Joshua sought the lord first
Before engaging in a battle to become a comer
Before Jesus chose His disciples
He spent time in prayer first
While preparing for the cross
He choose to pray till it last
What does that tell us?
Before you engage in an issue
A battle, or whatever bugaboo
Spend time in prayer prayer with God to discuss
So how do we fight?
We fight in prayer
Seeking in our prayer closet
The One who can handle anything in His power
Trust Him
Keep your faith in Him
And go to war in prayer
But never believe in your wisdom and power
HAVE YOU PRAYED TODAY?
People go along in their life and then bam. Dead. Deceased. Kaput.
Survivors sit by a headstone and talk to them. I am not kidding!
They are not in there, folks.
Their body is nothing. The soul is their essence.
The sitters are now spread eagle on the graves, sobbing.
What the what? Do they not believe in a soul? I am gob-smacked.
Curious, all those Sundays spent in church and they think dead is dead.
Sure, the body is gone; going faster and faster, turning to dust.
But what about the soul people?
Do you not realize the soul cannot die?
The soul is busy, rolling her eyes at your silliness.
Pay attention to the soul; she has gone on with her life.
The soul is real, more real than this flesh life ever was.
It was a shell, a suit, a costume. Get off the grave. It is nothing.
A waste of money even.
Your memories and photos are the real deal.
Pick yourself up and go home, where your loved one occasionally visits.
Better yet, ask them for a visitation dream.
Sometimes it is the only way to get one.
With the right of messianism,
And the depth of free will,
They journeyed to Bethlehem,
To hear the parents spill.
Zoroastrians true and ready,
Ripe for the monologue bold,
They offered gold and incense,
And on Mary’s story they were sold.
Called wise men, magicians,
They could interpret the land,
Jailing’s, fishing booms and births,
And so told people about their hand.
They knew the power of the stars,
The connection, their meaning,
So followed one to that lively abode,
Where Jesus lay with apparent feeling.
God did not appear to them,
By a star in vocality,
But they just gave cerebral relevance,
To that asteroid motioning entity.
The gifts they offered and gave,
Did not signify the incarnation,
But were considered gestures,
Of the magi’s visitation.
Their religion let them speak about,
The predicted life of the babe;
Prediction was their position and seat,
As at semiology they were abe.
Christianity did not come from Judaism,
Zoroastrianism was its predecessor,
As its followers searched for a messiah,
Every day, with such earnest vigour.
Christianity centres around a messiah,
A cultural saviour from social retardation,
Which Jesus was back them,
In a world of poor folks’ isolation.
Jesus was a Jew, a temple boy,
But proclaimed his own religion,
To follow him and not just the Torah,
Which was in no way old and gone.
The impact of these Zoroastrians,
On Israeli life and society,
Can only be understood,
As Christianity’s modernity.
"The chorus a poet bleeds ..."
Before the tongue had cognisance of praise,
Before the lungs negotiated breath,
There kept, beneath all unrecorded days,
A psalm surviving every little death—
Not sung, but waiting, with such patient art
As roots employ beneath the wintered heart.
The blood possessed an elder scholarship
Than all the grammars ever speech compiled.
It held, in crimson covenant, the script
Whereby the Infinite rehearsed the child.
No eye could read it. Yet its hidden claim
Outlived the parchment of remembered name.
Then Visitation entered—not to mar,
But as the frost instructeth April's seed:
Undoing only what we never are,
To husband what eternity shall need.
The chalice yielded to the faithful cleft;
The wine discovered more than had been left.
I deemed the hymn proceeded out of me.
The silence smiled and gently proved me wrong.
No fountain drinketh of itself. The sea
Was ancient long before the first gull's song.
I was no source.
I was the place made still
Enough for what had always sought my will.
Then came the hour no doctrine could foresee.
A wound,
long faithful to a single breast,
forgot
the grammar of possession.
It crossed, without a footfall or a voice,
into the hearing of the world.
Thereafter no man suffered wholly lone.
For what departed me
returned as recognition.
Then understood I what no laurel knows:
The poet holdeth no dominion here.
He is the interval wherein there grows
A listening greater than the listening ear.
His gift is not invention, but consent—
The open gate through which the Unsent went.
Therefore I leave no maxim after me.
Only this:
One evening,
when the last reader had closed the book,
the silence,
finding no mouth remaining,
Began
to sing.
In the realm where transient souls entwine,
Heartfelt strides, messages divine.
Though fleeting, your presence stirs my soul,
In the universe's decree, we find our role.
With threads delicate, a tapestry we weave,
Our encounter, a tale that yearns to cleave.
A celestial sigh, a moment soaring high,
Our spirits ascend, touching the sky.
Even if your stay is but a fleeting glance,
I embrace the gift of your soul's graceful dance.
The universe, a gracious host of fate,
Intertwines our souls, side by side, they await.
Oh, transient soul, your grace profound,
In this fleeting connection, joy knows no bound.
For depth resides not in length's measure,
But in precious moments, our souls treasure.
The joy we share, the memories we mold,
In this transient encounter, never to grow old.
Within life's grand scheme, a mosaic's gleam,
Your soul's visitation, a cherished dream.
In this cosmic dance, our spirits entwined,
Leaving footprints of love, moments divined.
For the universe's orchestration, I'm grateful, indeed,
Your soul graced mine, in this beautiful creed.
As you venture beyond my sight's domain,
Know your warmth remains, in the darkest terrain.
Even if you're not here for a prolonged stay,
I'm grateful the universe let your soul sway.
Farewell, dear soul, on your onward quest,
May blessings adorn your path, from east to west.
Though we part with a bittersweet sigh,
I'll treasure forever when our souls did fly.
For even if you're not here to always reside,
I'm grateful the universe allowed your soul to stride.
In this vast cosmic landscape, you'll forever be,
A cherished memory, etched in eternity.
Virtuous excavation…
validating steadfast faith*
voiding wavering trust and hope…
vested for life-building endeavour
verily provides venue for transformation
victorious removal of sin boulders with God’s grace…
visible divine** behavioral progress paved by the Lord
voicing out trust in Christ midst vilifying vanity-vexation
valiant against pride’s visitation for vision-led revival voyage
vigilant to survey heavenly truth toward valuable eternal settlement.
*Hebrews 12:2 Looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith; who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is set down at the right hand of the throne of God.
July 5, 2021
4th place, "This or That, Vol 4: An Excavation" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Edward Ibeh; judged on 7/27/2021.
**Title was changed after contest was judged.